How To
by Death of Roses
Summary: She narrowed her eyes at him. 'And you presume you can tell me all about the howtos of life' He raised an eyebrow. 'I presume no such thing. There's no need for me to presume a fact.' She pondered this. 'You're on.'
1. Chapter 1

"No, Ron. I won't." She glared at him, her eyes narrowed.

"You don't listen, that's the problem with you!" The fiery redhead shouted back at his brunette friend.

Hermione huffed, and stormed out of the room. Ron didn't follow.

The nerve! Ever since Harry had ran off to elope with Ginny in Italy (which had put Molly Weasley in a state of such anger that all of the Weasley household had to pretend they didn't know anyone by the name of 'Harry' or 'Ginny' for a week) Ron had been tempermental. It was undertstandable, of course. But only to an extent. And a small one, at that.

She smoothened out her skirt, counting her breathing as she calmed herself down. Oh, how infuriating he was! One would think he would grow up. But no, not Ronald Weasley. She shook her head in a Molly like fashion, and proceeded her way towards Diagon Alley. She needed some shopping to do, and a small visit to the bookstore as well, to calm her nerves.

Of course, one would think that only the insane would visit bookstores to alleviate headaches. Well, if so, you could call Hermione the ring leader of all the insane fellows out there. She adored the smell of books, and loved the feeling of the spine of one running across her palm. We'll stop there, though, before we make her sound like too much of a freak.

She heard the euphorious sound of the tinkling windchimes as she pushed open the door leading into Flourish and Blotts.

"Dear, you know I love you, but you're always here." Said a woman with her hands on her hips, her annoyed tone of voice contrasting against the playful flicker she had in her eyes.

"Oh Madam Prince!" Hermione smiled, embracing the elderly woman in a hug. She had preferred the calm demeanor Madam Prince held when school wasn't in session to the stern, austere countenance she had as the Librarian of Hogwarts' library. She, Hermione found out just this summer, liked working at Flourish and Blotts during the summer vacation of the school year.

Coincidentally, Hermione also loved the place. And from her conversations with Madam Prince, she had found out a few juicy details of the school library that she had not known before, despite being there nearly every waking second that wasn't spent in class.

"So darling, what are you looking for today?" Madam Prince asked, busying about the shop. Not many people came at this hour, since it was mid noon, a time when everyone was at lunch or work. She expected Hermione to respond with a bizarre topic, for she knew that the young girl loved gaining knowledge.

"Oh, Madam Prince, it's Ron again." Hermione sighed. "He's such a brat!"

Madam Prince crinkled her nose. "That annoyingly loud redhead?" She frowned. Madam Prince was not the type of person who liked to complicate things. She had several ways of characterizing a person: loud, very loud, nice (which meant quiet), and unusual (everything else goes in this category). As simple as these characterizations sounded, they worked. It was sad to say though, that Ron far surpassed the loudness scale that Madam Prince used to characterize people. The numerous times Ron had gotten kicked out of the library by her proved this.

"Yes." Hermione frowned. She had, to Ron, simply stated that she was not interested in going after Harry and Ginny. Ron, being nosy as he was, wanted to floo to Italy to 'check up on them'. She didn't blame him, really, for it was just him being, well, himself. But what irked her was that when she politely declined in accompanying him, he had thrown a fit. Which made her mad, of course. Which made two mad people. In the borrow. With Molly Weasley, who was already mad enough to feed ten families of horned headed hergers (Luna claimed these beasts feasted on anger, which is why you shouldn't be angry that often lest they infest your home).

Madam Prince raised an eyebrow and, seeing as Hermione didn't continue to elaborate, dropped the subject. "So dear, will you be interested in helping me shelve these?" She said, shoving a mountain of books into Hermione's hands without the girl's consent.

Hermione smiled, nodding and making her way towards the desk to put the books down. She knew this was Madam Prince's way of comforting her, since the elderly lady knew very well how soothing the company of books were. As she sorted through the pile of books on the table, one certain title caught her eye.

_How To_. That's all the cover had said. The simple words, 'How To'. Hermione frowned. How to _what_? Her fingers tingled with curiousity and she gave in to her desire. Transfixed, she sat down in a chair and turned the cover.

There was not a deep, dark, hidden secret in there. There was not a picture that revealed the secrets of life in there. There was, however, several blank pages. Hermione was thoroughly confused.

"How to," Hermione murmured to herself, the wheels in her head turning so fast that steam may well have been emitting from her hair.

Time stopped. Well, no, time did not stop. But this story, for now, will. Now, let's picture it, shall we? Let's imagine Hermione suspended in motion, her mouth forming the 'ooo' in 'to'. The birds don't chirp, the books don't breath (as they often like to do), and Madam Prince is also stopped in her tracks.

Now, this stop in time, as I will say again, _did not happen_. But as the author, I believe I have a right to control this story as I control my television. As I am the play writer and them my puppet, I now declare with utmost authoritive air: _cut._

Without much furthur ado, I shall make this short. Fate has trickery in its hands, and no one ever said Magic didn't have a sense of humor. For what more than a stage was the world? What more than puppets to Fate were the people? And what more, may I ask, than utmost absurdity is the most pronounced logic? Fate, humming its merrily tune, also had its own special remote control. It could press not only forward, rewind, and stop; It could also do many things that we can't fathom, in order to amuse itself. And this is where the magic of this story comes into play.

Now we will hit the 'play' button, and commence with the story again.

Hermione grabbed the book, curious about it. Maybe, a small voice in the back of her mind eagerly exclaimed, it held some sort of secret inside it. Maybe it was something that she could even decipher. She smiled broadly at that thought, her delight immense.

She did not consider herself to be 'bookish', but instead, to be 'eager to learn'. Few things in life delighted her more than aquiring knowledge; one of such things was the execution of her aquired knowledge to other inquiring minds. She smiled as she shoved the book in her bag, planning to leave a sum of money on the counter with a note to Madam Prince about it.

And that, was the highlight of her day. Not to say that the rest was boring, for it was far from boring. But it was nothing new, just simply the daily routine of assissting Madam Prince. That makes no statement, though, of the interesting (if you can call it that) happenings waiting to happen that night.

Throwing her bags in a heap somewhere near the general vicinity of the corner of her room, she slumped onto her couch and closed her eyes. Aaah. Home. She had missed this place, despite being gone for, what, little less than a week? She had stayed at the Burrow due to Molly's invitation, but now she felt as if it was time to take her departure, lest one overstays their welcome.

It was wrong of her to say that, though. She knew full well the reason she did not want to stay at the Burrow was because of one person: Ronald Weasley. She did no justice to Molly Weasley's benign character by saying that it was even fathomable to overstay her welcome, for her welcome to the Burrow felt as if it would never be worn out. Yet, Hermione was tired, so she let out a groan of disatisfication at the jumbledness of her thoughts.

"It's not nice to throw one in the corner like that." A very irked voice rang through the room. Hermione opened her eyes, and held very still. Her hands swiftly and soundlessly pulled out her wand. Her eyes did not shift from her bags, where the voice had seemed to originate from.

"Too slow." A male voice called out, startling her as it came from behind her. Hermione whirled around, her eyes (if possible) growing even bigger at what she saw. Or rather, who she saw.

"Riddle!"

* * *

Authors Note: Thank you for taking your time to read this! Please know that Harry Potter and its respectful characters do not belong to me, but to a wonderful person named J.K. Rowling.

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	2. Spell Me This

**How To**

**Chapter 2**

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its respectful characters belong to J.K. Rowling. _

She did not know why she did that. Blurted out his name without a second of hesitation, that is. Perhaps it was due to Ginny's confiding in her (which was loaded with unnecessary details, so unnecessary, in fact, that it rendered her able to picture Tom Riddle so vividly in detail, based only by verbal descriptions). If the situation had been different, she would have not been able to fight back the smirk that threatened to cross her features. She was proud to have recognized him, and just based on the details Ginny had given. But alas, she did not smirk. She did, however, stand up from her original slouching position on the couch.

"_Stupify!_" She wasted no time in hollering, her aiming flawless. He raised his eyebrows, and the spell whizzed past him. Well, no, such description would be an inaccurate presentation of what had occurred. To better explain, we must delve into the simple details of the situation.

_Riddle was standing. _Okay, that ascertained to the fact that gravity, indeed, could dig its nails into the young Lord Voldemort; which meant that he was in a tangible body. Now, what had transpired between the stunning spell and the body of such a male is a tad bit difficult to explain. This explanation would be, by general terms, considered poorly given and would require the reader to give in a big of imagination and belief into the '_I said it was so, so it was so'_ logic. We should go with the excuse '_because I said so_'.

Don't panic though, even if you're satisfied with the lame excuse, our heroine isn't.

"What the fuck?" She muttered, narrowing her eyes and gripping her wand tighter. Her wards were supposed to stop the apparation of unregistered people (unregistered to go into her house, that is). True, she admitted that it might have weakened due to the days that she had been gone, therefore not being able to renew them, but it should have held altogether.

"There, there." Riddle exhaled in what seemed like a sigh. Could such a monster sigh? Hermione pondered this. He stood in the corner of the room, near her bags.

If one were to describe how Riddle looked, that person would be forced to give some capricious answers. His hair was not so black as to describe it as 'black as night itself'. Yet, neither was it a dark brown. It seemed that his hair had a mind of its own, and could not decide between whether it should be dark brown or pitch black. From a distance, it held the image of being black. If being peered at by a squint, however, it would flicker with flecks of dark brown.

His eyes were much the same, Hermione noticed. They could be described as light gray, and they could be described as light brown.

"Why did it…" she muttered, her voice faltering a bit.

He took a step forward.

"Why did your spell go past me?" He said, finishing her question. He was standing only two feet away from the corner. He laughed. "Spells won't work on me, so don't try." He said.

She squinted at him, confusion written all over her face. She didn't get it. _What was he?_ He certainly could not be a human wizard… neither could he be a memory. If he had been a memory, he would not have been so tangible. Or was he? Perhaps he was just… very… visible?

She had no idea why she did what she did next. If asked to explain herself, she would not be able to.

She slapped him.

That's right, downright slapped him.

He was shocked. Heck, she was shocked. His eyes narrowed, blazing in fury. "What was that for!" He hissed, putting his hand up to his face on the red hand print that was forming.

"Oops."

His hand shot to her throat. She stepped back. Her eyes widened her body tensing as she expected to feel the cold grip of his fingers. But that didn't come. She smiled as she realized a key factor in the insanity that was happening.

"Ha! You can't go too far away from the corner of..." her voice faltered as she realized the absurdity of what she was saying. Nonetheless, she finished her sentence, "My room…"

He glared.

"No, you idiot, it's not the corner I'm bound to." He gave an exasperated sigh. "Who exactly _are_ you?" He crossed his arms over his chest.

She lowered her wand, seeing no threat in him anymore. He did not have a wand in his hands, and he seemed to have been bound to an area. So, our heroine decided that standing was not worth the effort. There for, she lowered herself into the comforting embrace of the couch.

"I'm Hermione." She stated, sounding as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Until she realized that she was talking to the dark lord. Well, technically, she wasn't talking to _the_ Dark Lord, but rather the pre-power-hungry version of him. Or shall we say 'lesser' instead of 'pre'. She weighed the situation, and decided that she had the upper hand.

She smirked.

Tom felt a rock drop in his stomach.

Now, it's not everyday that you're Tom Riddle. Unless, of course, you're Tom Riddle. So here Riddle was, finding himself in the weirdest of situations. He was in a flat. With a girl who needed to stop smirking. After all, it was unbecoming to smirk if you were a girl.

He bent down, picking up his book. Ah, how he loved the feel of it in his hands. An evil smile broke out on his face as he held the book to his chest. The _How To_ book was his… home. Somehow, he always found himself bound to books. Fate has a weird sense of humor. Thankfully, he was not a nerd. He was, in fact, attractive. _Hot_, he corrected.

With the book firmly in his hands, he walked over to the girl. She was so surprised, as she had thought that he was bound to a corner (what kind of stupid girl would believe that?), that she fell off the couch.

She pointed her wand at him, even though she knew it was futile. "Get back!" She shouted. Oh boy, why hadn't she just chosen to stay at the Weasley's? She wouldn't be in such a situation if it weren't for Ron.

Hermione's anger towards Ron just now intensified.

Hermione wasn't called a genius for no reason. If there was a light bulb above her head, it'd be going off like crazy right now. She grinned with such mischief it made Tom take a step back.

Too bad there was nothing he could have done to prevent what was about to happen.

With a flick of her wrist and a simple incantation, she summoned a rope in which she used to bind Tom's body to a chair. He was absolutely horrified, his eyes widened in shock.

Then his eyes narrowed in fury.

"How dare you!" He cried indignantly. She simple raised an eyebrow at him.

"Now, you'll explain to me _exactly what are you!_" She hissed, sitting once more on the couch. She felt pretty good about herself. Apparently, she had noticed, that even though magic did not work on him if it was used _directly_ against him, _indirectly_ it still worked. He still had a physical body, so physical objects worked on him just like they would on any other person. This knowledge had led her to realize that she could just easily tie him up with the help of magic.

"I'm," he paused as if to find a good word for it, "well, me." _Oh nice one there, Tom_ he thought to himself. He scowled at his inability to describe what he was.

"We've ascertained to that fact." Hermione grumbled.

He glared at her so hard that he may as well thrown acid with his eyes. Hermione though, held strong and did not let her gaze waver.

"I'm somehow cursed." He said finally. "Somehow. To this book, I may add." He grimaced, nodding towards the '_How To_' book. Oh boy, if books could act, this book would win an Oscar for suddenly appearing so innocent.

Hermione laughed. And laughed. And didn't stop laughing. She managed to calm herself down a while later, after clutching at her stomach with one hand and wiping away tears with the other. Oh, it was just so funny! Riddle, who had been such a … _user_ of books, was now _cursed_ into one!

"I'm glad you find my whole situation so amusing."

Hermione snickered, something that was unusual for her to do. "Are you like genie in a bottle?" she asked. Tom quirked his eyebrow at her question. "What the—What do you expect me to do, give you three wishes?"

"Something of that sort, yes." She laced her words with sarcasm.

He winced at the blatant sarcasm. "Well, not exactly." He leaned back and relaxed into his chair, despite the ropes' biting grip on his flesh. He smirked. "But," he said, with a very haughty air, "I can tell you _how to._"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And you presume you can tell me all about the how-tos of life?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I presume no such thing. There's no need for me to presume a fact."

She pondered this. "You're on."

There was a moment of silence for a while, in which they just sat there, glaring at each other. Hermione was first to break.

"Oh, this is preposterous! What in Merlin's name in going on?" She cried out, clearly frustrated. This whole night seemed like a nightmare. It seemed too unreal to happen. What happened to going home, showering, and sleeping? She frowned.

"Why_me_?" She whimpered softly, saying it to no one in particular.

"I wonder the same thing. Why couldn't I have at least stumbled onto someone less stupid." He sighed, mimicking her soft whimper. His tone of voice earned him a dirty scowl and a tightening of ropes. He instantly regretted opening his mouth.

"Why didn't anyone else pick up the book?" She sighed.

"That's because they can't see it." He voiced his knowledge out loud. "Trust me, **we**," he indicted to the book, "have been sitting on those shelves for a good number of years." He said, cocking his head to one side.

Hermione shook her head, getting up. Oh gosh, she really had to buy slippers. The wooden floor was far too cold. And she didn't believe in turning up the heater too high, that would be a waste of electricity. Her feet sent signals of 'help, we're cold' up her body, and she frowned. She could have easily done a warming spell on herself, but she didn't believe in using magic for trivial things. After all, magic was to be valued and respected. Anything you could easily do yourself, she reasoned, you should just do by yourself.

"You will stay here. I'm headed to bed, goodnight." She huffed, walking towards her room. He protested with indignant cries and some foul language. She ignored him, yet stopped just before her room. Her body faltered a bit.

Should she?

**Perhaps.**

Perhaps not?

_Ugh, curse me for being so nice._ She turned on her heel, and peeking into the living room, she saw Tom just sitting there.

She cast a warming spell on him, just to keep him warm through the night. She did not, however, loosen the ropes. She, after all, believed in 'better safe than sorry'. With that, she retired to her room. After putting up enough wards on the door of her room to make a seasoned auror proud, she finally succumbed to rest in her feather-soft bed.

Oh boy, was tomorrow going to be a big day.


End file.
